Chapter 52: Chapter Fifty-One

Falling in love is like falling into a swimming pool. —Russian Proverb

Nikolai

I made her talk about frivolous things like her favorite restaurants in Seattle, all the places she wished to visit—anything to keep her talking and coherent.

I'd already sent a text to Phoenix that we were on our way back to the apartment.

It took me a good fifteen minutes to finally get her into the apartment and over to the couch.

“No!” She gasped. “It’s white. Not the couch.”

Guilt slammed me in the chest, stealing my breath away. “Maya, it’s fine… I need to lay you down now.”

“You hate red on white.”

“I also hate butterflies.”

“What?” She gasped.

“It was a joke.” I smiled. “Now lie down.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue with your doctor.”

“Horrible bedside manner.” She shivered.

“Now, Maya.” I set her down carefully while Phoenix shared a look with me and left the room. “You know that’s not true.”

Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.

“Maya.” I grabbed a syringe of morphine. “I’m just going to give you a little bit to numb the pain while I stitch, it will also relax you.”

Without waiting for her answer, I injected her.

She went silent, her eyes boring holes into me as I slowly stitched up her stomach. Six stitches.

“I can take it away,” I whispered, hating that the words were coming out of my mouth. “But I have to take it all away.”

“What are you talking about?” Maya blinked, tried to sit up then winced and lay back down as I knelt next to her on the couch.

“The memories.” I was an ass. “Just say the word, and I’ll make you think you’ve been in another car accident, I don’t know if it will work but I can try, I can take away the bad.”

“Oh, Nik.” Maya placed a hand over mine. “You can’t do that.”

“I can try.”

She smiled. “Life is hell.”

“Yes.”

“It sucks.”

“These aren’t exactly points in your favor.”

“My point…” Her lower lip trembled. ”…is you can’t take away the bad, without taking away the good. The good is you. If I need to keep the bad memories in order to keep you. Then I choose the bad.”

“But—”

She pressed a finger to my lips. “Kiss me.”

“My grandmother almost killed you. I'm not just part of the Russian mafia but I'm guilty of turning a blind eye while my own flesh and blood went on a killing rampage, and what's worse?

“I encouraged it, because I wanted no part of it. And you want me to kiss you? Still?”

“Not just still,” Maya whispered. “Always.”

“But—”

“Damn you're argumentative. See? Horrible bedside manner.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maya, be serious. Our life… it will never be easy.”

“Who wants easy?” She shrugged. “Give me hard.” With a grin she slid her hand down to the button of my slacks.

“Very funny.”

Her hand inched further. “And true.”

I groaned. “What the hell am I going to do with you?”

“Love me.” She sighed. “Keep me safe.”

“With my life,” I vowed. “I'll do both.”

Maya drifted off to sleep, not a drug-induced one, not one that was pushed upon her, but one of absolute exhaustion. Her body needed to heal, her mind even more so.

“How is she?” Sergio was the first to ask when I emerged from her room two hours later for something to eat.

The rest of the guys had gone to the hotel across the street, Sergio had stayed behind to make sure that the security at my apartment hadn't been infiltrated from the outside.

“Good.” I finally nodded, rummaging through the fridge for something to eat that wasn't a fruit or vegetable.

I felt a pat on my back as Sergio handed me a hot Panini.

“Did this just appear out of thin air?” I asked taking the sandwich.

“Phoenix dropped off food.” He shrugged. “I kept yours wrapped in foil in the oven just in case you were going to be a while.”

“The same Phoenix who kills for fun and wears a permanent smile while pointing a gun at your head? That Phoenix?” I asked dryly.

“The very one.” Sergio managed a small smile.

“Would you believe me if I told you he used to only eat the color green, freaked the shit out of him to eat anything with color, like he didn't deserve color in his life.

I pulled out a bar stool and sat. “I've heard worse.”

“Oh yeah?” Sergio sat next to me and continued typing on his laptop, the screen was black, his fingers were typing in code so fast that it was hard to keep up. “Let's hear it.”

“I hate vodka.”

Sergio’s fingers froze in a hover position over the keyboard as he lifted his chin in my direction. “No shit?”

“I prefer wine.”

“Hell, Tex is right. You really are going Italian, aren’t you?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t insult me.”

“You should be so lucky, Russia,” Sergio said and then hung his head and whispered. “It slipped, calling you Russia. It was my nickname for Andi.” His voice cracked.

“You know, for a psycho doctor you really do have a good point. Some days the memories hurt so bad that it’s hard to breathe.”

“Only real memories can do that,” I murmured. “The fake ones don’t hurt… the smoke screen rarely causes a physical reaction that you feel from your chin down to your feet.

“Good to know it’s normal that I want to puke all the time when I think of what I’m missing, when I wake up and she’s not taking up the space next to me, when my hands ache with the memory of hers.”

I couldn’t speak. I’d never understood love, not really.

“I have to hope,” I finally answered with a sigh. “That it will get better and that a girl like Andi would be pissed as hell that you’re sitting here whining like a girl.”

Sergio burst out laughing. “Shit, she’d kill me if I ever shed a tear over her.

“I promised her I wouldn’t, and I’ve broken that promise more than I’d care to admit.” He typed a few more things into the computer then slowly shut the top, turned to face me and stood.

I held out my hand. “But?”

“It’s been interesting… your fire walls are solid, big brother isn’t watching and I’ve deleted your family’s virtual thumbprint from the Internet.

“You can thank me later.” He heaved his bag over his shoulder. “I’m off to New York, text me if you need me.”

“New York?” I parroted. “Not Chicago?”

“Secrets.” Sergio nodded. “It seems a bit of our family has gotten… out of hand. Guess who was voted to go enforce the law?”

“Try not to leave too many bodies in your wake.”

“True or false, you told someone to walk into a fire and watched them burn alive? Calling the kettle, doc?”

I didn’t answer, instead shifted uncomfortably on one foot then the other.

“That’s what I thought.” He smirked then called back. “Stay out of prison… and Nik?”

“Yeah?”

Sergio took in the large apartment, his eyes flickering from one object to another. “She would have been proud to see you settle down… Domesticated.”

“Hah.” I nodded. “Andi would have laughed her ass off then asked who I hypnotized to be in a relationship with me, at worst she would have asked if I paid someone.”

“Sounds like her,” Sergio whispered, then gave me a middle finger salute—not that I expected anything different—and shut the door quietly behind him.